Night Shift

New moms get all the breaks. People advise them, "Sleep when the babies sleep," and bring ice cream.  Friends and family suggest date nights and "taking time for me."  

It makes sense.  Rookies need time to adjust to the reality of motherhood, which is not baby waking hours but every hour since the baby first came to be.   I used to joke, parent hours are from five a.m. to twelve midnight, but that was before I had teenagers.

Between teens on dates, teens with jobs, track and field hockey and all the other treats of summer, the window of non-necessary time has shortened on both ends.  My body is missing that extra hour.  Last night, I dreamed I was sleeping.  How tired do you have to be to have your subconscious fantasize about being unconscious?  

My daughter laughed when she saw "Sleep" on my to do list for the day, but I'm serious.

Last night, the four year old came to us at midnight because she had nightmares.  After cuddling, she took herself back to bed at one.  I figured, good for the night.  The light went on at 1:30.  A teen wanted a snack.   The light went on at 4 a.m.  My youngest son needed a change.  He had the grace to curl up at my feet in his blanket after I cleaned him up, but I hadn't the energy or the will to move him.   At 4:30, the four year old returned.  No reason, she just got in bed.

Within fifteen minutes, both children slept perpendicular to the bed, giving me a pillow sized space in between.  I cursed myself for checking the time.   Forty-five minutes until the first alarm.

I could get up, get a jump on the day, get dressed...I'd just opted "No." when  the son with cross country tryouts came running down the stairs to make sure I was awake so he wouldn't be late.

My brain sang a version of the Lego song in the shower.

Everything is awful.
Everything hurts when you don't ever sleep.
Everything is awful
....when you don't get to dream.

A diet coke later, I'm on the road wondering if it would be better if the teenager with a learner's permit took the wheel when he told me I drove like an old lady.   I'd sat at the red light musing about the idea of doing nothing all day for several days.   I imagined floating down a river, sitting at a pool, and feeling strained to open a book, lift a fork or even flip over to tan evenly.   The light turned green.

I told him, there is never a situation when calling someone an old lady is a compliment, it was very early, I hadn't slept and it was closer to home than the school such that his taxi felt taxed to be transportation at this point in the day.  

He had the grace to mend his speech....though the substitute of Wise for Old, wasn't too much of an improvement.

Worse, my body is starting to adjust, to wake up after four hours, expecting to have to do something.

So I've begun strategizing.  There isn't a manual for parents of older children on how to get them to understand, you're closed.  I've tried saying the Internet and the server is down, I'm going offline, off the grid, I'm done, but they don't understand my being tired if they're not.

In the meantime, I've crafted the beginnings of a plan.

First Rule:  Post hours of operation, pad the hours on both ends.  

Second Rule: Have incentives for teens who allow 8 hours that rival Price is Right Showcase Showdowns.  Pay for each hour over six you're allowed to rest.  I've got a coupon for Amazon and one for pizza.  All yours if I get to Carpe Diem the night.

Third Rule:   If all else fails, I'm  finding a cheap artsy movie theatre and wearing dark sun glasses. I will pay for the opportunity to sit still for three hours.  I just hope I don't snore.

Party Magic

Twenty-five years ago, I had insomnia.  It was the night before our wedding and I tossed and turned until my mother was summoned.  She stroked my head.  I started sobbing because I would look tired for our wedding.  She said I wouldn't, "Bridal magic." and that little phrase was sufficient for whatever demons were gnawing at my brain and preventing sleep.

Today, we've spent two months preparing for a party. It is tonight.  It is five o'clock, and I've had fitful sleep at best.  I've told myself the story but I think today's bout of non sleeping is due to thinking about all the details.   There have been other nights, when thoughts crowd out sleep. It's part of why I turned to writing, to pull out all the random elements from my brain, so the rest of it could function.   I turned off my blog to prepare for the party, so I wouldn't be haunted by the need of upkeep, instead I'm haunted by all the stuff that didn't get out.

"Sherry, Sherry, you are anxious about many things." I could hear.  I thought about the feast to come, and how I'd love to have "that moment" with every one of my guests, all the friends and family that have driven, flew, struggled and still come.   How I'd want to spend the whole evening with each of them, with only them, and how I'd want the evening to never end so I could be that present with each of them and only them and the pain of knowing the time will ebb as the tide.   That's the point of a feast, to remind us that we long for an eternal one.  So it is no wonder I pine before the party starts about how little time there is to spend here, on any given day, enjoying each others company.

I'm telling myself, I must chose the better portion, even as we work through the final stuff, present, present, present.   The very thought of being present is like a warm bath, a cool breeze, It is both. The anxieties spool away.  Yes we will still need to lay out the tables, put up the lights, make the salads and ice the drinks.  I could add to the list but it would stir up the wrong sensibilities in me.

Besides, I wrote them down already.    So what were the moments today?  Getting to hug the people who came through the door.  Watching my nieces watch Wreck-it Ralph on our bed.  Seeing my mom and her sister talking in our living room.  Having them here even if I was busy trying to figure out how to put a tent together and failing miserably. Talking under the successfully set up tents, watching my 19 year old dance with my nine year old while we tested the sound.  A thousand little moments crammed in between the weed wacking, dishwashing and cooking.  Those moments were magic.   Party magic.  I yawn.  The thinking onto the page worked.  I'm going back to bed.

So I'm going to believe today in "Party Magic" and press forward.  When I wake up, the day awaits.